


Can You Keep a Secret

by ProfessorDrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Healer Harry Potter, M/M, Mild Smut, Potion drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-03-05 10:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13386231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: Harry Potter was a first-rate healer, and his research may even be ground-breaking. Hopefully, that will be enough for him to figure out why Draco Malfoy keeps showing up at the hospital, potion drunk and rambling. It had better, and soon, or else the entire building is going to figure out their secret.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Staganddragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staganddragon/gifts).



> A month or so ago, Staganddragon prompted me for my drabble series and things spiralled into a full plot. I promised I’d write it....and then I ACTUALLY DID? Which like never happens. Thanks to Jazzy Prez (aka Jade Presley) for being an awesome beta of awesome! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Prompt: “Can I tell you a secret?”

Emily Thibault had been a medi-witch for a very long time. The job had grown and stretched around her, and she loved every minute of it; it drove her mother crazy, since it was always meant to be a temporary placement, and that was just an added bonus. She was good at what she did, and people trusted her. The patients liked her because she wasn’t loud or brash, and she still got them what they need. The Healers liked her because she would guide them with a gentle hand, remembered each of their weird quirks and habits, and yet remained fully in charge. They knew it, and they respected her for it.

YOver the years, she had seen many a class of trainees come and go. She’d been there for marriages and babies, successes and failures. She had watched so many people come in and out of St. Mungo’s that the other nurses all counted on her judgment of the incoming classes; they made a game of predicting who would make it to the end. She was a very good judge of character, and telling the good Healers from the bad was no exception. She could tell instantly who was going to finish the program and flourish, and who was going to flounder under the stress and fail.

But Emily had been very wrong about Harry Potter.

She remembered watching him come in with his group of fresh-faced kids, just out of school and just itching to muck up her hospital. She had seen a dozen like him; high praise all the way through school, bolstered by natural talent and early fame, never working hard. He’d been unimpressive to look at; thin and wiry, with a mass of curly, unkempt hair and sheer terror in his eyes. She was immediately convinced he wasn’t going to last.

When the others had asked her, she’d just scoffed and said, ‘he’s trading on his name. He won’t make it through his first year. Just watch.’ After all, they all knew what had happened with Harry Potter during his Auror training.

The first week, she had been justified in her judgement. He was always late for rounds, never seemed to look professional. He seemed confused half the time, and kept ending up in the wrong ward when he was called to a case. She had been harsh and unforgiving with him, and he had never once snapped back.

The second week, though, everything had changed. Harry Potter arrived the second week of his shifts a changed man; he found his feet. He was quiet, but his presence commanded respect. He was powerful, but he was kind. He handled patients with calm finesse well beyond his years; he charmed old ladies, joked around with the lads, and spoke with confidence to parents worried about their children. Most importantly, he took his time. He stopped trying to rush and was a better Healer for it. He wasn’t flashy with his casting, always choosing the conservative and well-thought out treatment options. He wasn’t trying to prove anything, and his healing showed restraint and care.

Emily had already decided she might have been wrong when Harry Potter decided to be everything she respected in a Healer. His first overnight shift, the one that usually caused the Trainees to be intolerably grumpy while they made mistake after mistake, Potter had ended up with an emergency case. A small girl had come in, looking much younger than her eleven years, transferred from Hogwarts with the worst case of boils Emily had ever seen. Her mother was abroad, and no one had managed to get a hold of her. The child entered screaming and crying, generally terrified and inconsolable.

Potter hadn’t even paused; he sent nurses off to find the girl’s mother, began casting charms to relieve the child’s pain, and then calmly put on gloves and a mask. He sat down in a chair beside the little girl’s bed, and refused to move for six hours. He spoke soothing words until she fell asleep, played games with her when she woke up, gave clear, concise directions to Emily when she asked if she could help. When the girl’s mother finally appeared, he’d calmly left, accepting only the pat on the shoulder from the exhausted mother, as though he hadn’t just been selfless all night long.

Yes, Emily had been wrong about Harry Potter. She wasn’t too proud to be able to admit it. The problem was, admitting it had made her like Potter, and liking Potter had led to an obscene amount of time spent worried about the young man.

He had sailed through training, and acquired a position immediately afterwards on the emergency ward, where he buzzed and flew, efficient and organised. One year in, he’d started a research project, trying to create new detection spells that would capture more information when patients first arrived. Professionally, he was a superstar, poised to become unit head by thirty.

Emily wasn’t worried about Healer Potter, but she worried continuously about the man attached to the name. Harry had a sadness about his eyes, a sort of permanent exhaustion, an expression that looked like he was just a tiny bit disappointed all the time, even when he was laughing. He had filled out since those first few years, grown into a man instead of a boy, but she sometimes caught him hunched and introspective, a frown that was well beyond his years plastered on his face. He was lonely and he was afraid. He had good friends, she knew, who took good care of him. He was proud of his work and enjoyed the hospital. Emily was pretty sure Harry wasn’t actually aware of his loneliness. But she saw it, and watched as it ate away at him.

Emily also knew exactly how long Harry had been carrying on with Mr Malfoy, because she could place the day when his face had changed. There had been a sudden jolt in his step, a tiny wistful smile she had never seen before. He spent the next few weeks wavering back and forth between that smile and a complicated frown that she didn’t understand.

All of this knowledge meant that she approached the lab with caution, hoping that she wasn’t about to destroy a carefully built web of background encouragement and care. Young men were a delicate breed; they required firm yet invisible guidance, and opening this particular door would be hard to reverse. She was actually a little nervous, which was ridiculous. She took a deep breath and knocked.

  
“Healer Potter?”

“Emily,” Harry sighed. “I’m just...It’s really not a good time, and—”

“I am aware that you are hiding in here, Potter, but… we have a…”

Harry waited

“A situation,” Emily finished with a curiously nondescript expression on her face.

Harry massaged his temples and officially gave up on his research for the day.

“Alright, lead the way.”

The hospital was actually pretty quiet, a sure sign of everything going to shit at any possible second. Emily was moving in her efficient shuffle, and Harry was trying his best to keep a leisurely pace behind her, in a quick step he’d perfected over the past three years as an apprentice healer.

“He came in an hour ago,” Emily explained. “The diagnostics team still hasn’t determined what he’s taken, but he wouldn’t stop asking for you. Got very belligerent and then bit one of the nurses. We figured it was probably just easier to come get you.”

She handed him the folio and he skimmed it quickly, finally landing on the patient’s name. He always read this last so that he remembered it when he reached the patient.

“You have got to be—“

“Yes, we thought you might react that way,” Emily sighed, pulling back the curtain of the bed they had reached.

“You found him! Good job, pion. Nice to see someone in this place can do something right. Potter! You found me. Well done. That’s not easy.” Malfoy’s tone was thick and swimming in an unnatural lisp.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Malfoy?”

“The one and only. Well... okay, not really, but the only one who... Wait, where’s that other one? The nurse with the ginger hair?”

“Malfoy, what did you take?” Harry asked carefully.

Malfoy was splayed across the bed, the regulation hospital gown not closed and barely covering him. He kept wriggling and writhing, and sitting up suddenly.

“I dunno, Mr Solve All the Problems. You’ll have to figure it out,” Malfoy sneered.

“Listen, you need to just tell us, so we can—”

“Dunno, dunno, dunno!” Malfoy sang, standing suddenly on the bed.

“Mr Malfoy! You need to lie back down!” Emily shouted.

“Emily, I’m sure you have a million other things to attend,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “Why don’t you leave this patient with me.”

Emily looked nervous, but did scurry off. Harry grabbed Malfoy by the arm and dragged him back down onto the bed.

“Oh, careful now Potter. I know you like it rough, but you’re at work,” Malfoy crooned.

“What the fuck are you doing here? And what is wrong with you?” Harry hissed, still holding Malfoy’s arm.

“Hm, can’t I visit you at work,” Malfoy pouted leaning very close to Harry’s face.

“You bloody well know you can’t, you idiot,” Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to be a healer. “Okay, Mal-Draco. Can you tell me the last thing you remember eating or drinking?”

Malfoy scrunched up his nose, “Well. I left your flat this morning, and got a coffee at that ghastly little place up the road, and took a sandwich with me.”

Malfoy wriggled out of Harry’s grasp and tapped his chin.

“Only then, I got to work and had a glass of pumpkin juice that tasted quite... off. Probably should have thrown it out,” he mused.

“Okay, well, now you’re at Mungo’s and not... acting yourself. We are running some tests to see what it might be.”

Malfoy flung himself on the bed with an exasperated sigh and flung a dramatic arm over his eyes as Harry retreated.

Several hours later, of course, Harry’s patience had disappeared completely. They were no closer to figuring out what Malfoy had ingested, and in the meantime, he was getting increasingly frustrating to be around.

“Harry... psst, Harry.” Malfoy said for the fifteenth time. “Come sit by me.”

“Malfoy, no, we’re fine right where we are,” Harry said, a hand on his face.

Malfoy crossed his arms and pouted, which did not help with the fact that Harry wanted to leap across the bed and smother Malfoy with his body. He was pretty sure he would have felt that way even if he and Malfoy hadn’t been sleeping together for six months. Exasperating, needy Malfoy was exactly how he’d ended up in that particular mess, and he was no less turned on by it now.

“Harry,” Malfoy said, his voice quiet and distant instead of the strange whining it had been for the past hour. Harry looked up. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Um,” Harry said. “I guess so?”

“You have to come here, though. It’s a secret. I have to say it quietly.”

Harry sighed again and stood up, moving toward the bed. Malfoy reached over and pulled his head down to be level with his. He whispered in Harry’s ear, and the air made his skin prickle and his breath snap in his lungs.

“I still like you,” he whispered. “You should stop sleeping with me and date me instead.”

“S-still,” Harry stammered, his hand unconsciously running through Malfoy’s hair.

“I’m scared, Harry,” he murmured. “I know who gave me the potion.”

“Who, Draco? You can tell me.”

“I can’t!” Draco said, leaning his forehead against Harry’s. “You’ll be mad at me.”

Harry sighed and pulled away long enough to settle down on the bed beside Draco, who now had tears running down his face. Harry wrapped an arm around him. It was a very bad idea, to be doing this in the hospital. But it was also midnight and quiet, and he was tired.

“Shh,” he soothed. “We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to tell me.”

When Emily came back around the corner carrying the report from the potions team, she found Healer Potter wrapped around Mr Malfoy, both of them asleep and looking content. She pulled the curtain closed; Malfoy had only taken a bad batch Veritaserum, and he'd be fine in the morning anyway.

She knew that Potter could do with some peaceful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry really wasn’t sure how he always ended up in such giant messes. He was pretty sure, however, that waking up in a hospital bed, still in your Healer robes and cuddling a patient, was frowned upon by both the administration and the ethics board of St. Mungo’s. 

When he woke up, he was confused about where he was for far longer than he should have been, considering he’d be on call in an hour. His arm was trapped beneath a blond, heavy head, the narrow bed shaking slightly as Draco kicked in his sleep. Harry's body was curved in a not so subtle protective and possessive arc around Draco’s sleeping form, and Harry wanted to both run and wrap more tightly around him, and never move again. Draco didn’t allow contact in sleep. Or staying, for that matter. Harry had been given a physical list of rules and addendums he had to abide if he was going to keep sleeping with Draco, and that had been number one.

Harry, slightly nervous now, pulled his arm gently from the sleeping form beneath him and stood up. The curtains had been drawn carefully closed and he knew exactly who had done it. He trudged down the corridor, trying desperately to smooth out his hopelessly wrinkled clothes. He was pretty sure his locker didn't contain a change of shirt after the previous day's ridiculous vomit incident.   
  
He got to his office and found all of his work still sitting on the desk where he’d left it hours and hours earlier. Emily was standing at the nurses’ station, looking innocent and guilty simultaneously.   
  
“Good morning, Emily,” he said cautiously.  
  
“Healer Potter.” She nodded.   
  
“Thank you for the curtains.”  
  
“Healer Martin didn't see anything if that's what you're asking. You just looked like you needed some sleep,” Emily replied, not meeting his gaze.

Harry opened his mouth to reply but closed it again when he found that everything he was thinking would make him sound like a worried spouse. Emily smiled sadly and shook her head. 

“You don't have to worry,” she said quietly, stepping around the desk to stand beside him. “It was just a bad batch of veritaserum. That's why I didn't wake you. He should be fine.”   
  
“Emily,” Harry said, turning toward her. “‘I’m very grateful for everything you did last night, but don't you think that someone being poisoned by a bad batch of anything is something to worry about?”

“I mean, only if it turns into a rash string of potion poisonings?” Emily smirked. “I suppose you disagree, given your personal interest in the case.”  
  
With anyone else, Harry would have bristled at the accusation, but Emily was different.   
  
“Em, something you want to tell me?” Harry asked.  
  
“I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” Emily defended, staring at the chart she was working on. “Only, you both looked pretty happy last night. I haven't seen you with anyone lately and yet you looked pretty cosy. Why are you hiding him?”   
  


Harry sighed. He wasn't really ready to explain this to anyone.   
  
“There's... history. It's complicated,” he replied, shaking his head.  
  
“Well it's not my place,” Emily said. “Just thought you didn't need the Head Healer walking in.”   
  
He smiled at her gratefully, clasped her shoulder once, and walked into his office, where he found a freshly laundered shirt and trousers hung neatly on the back of the door. He'd have to buy that woman a very fancy Christmas present. A few minutes later, changed and having brushed his teeth, there was a gentle knock. When Emily's head poked in he smiled and thanked her, but she waved him off. 

“I’m heading home, but…” she trailed off with a frown. “Well, he’s fine to be discharged. Do you want me to do it?” 

Harry shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’ll do it. You go get some rest.”    
  
Harry cautiously walked back down the hall to find Malfoy already dressed and waiting on the edge of his bed. He looked like he had just stepped out of a catalogue instead of having spent the night in a too small hospital bed with another person. It made Harry scowl. 

“You’re fine to leave, Malfoy,” he nodded as soon as he approached. 

“Thank you. I’m sorry for the … commotion last night,” Draco replied, standing ramrod straight and not quite meeting Harry’s eye. 

“The authorities have not been called, but should you wish me to report it, I can do so immediately.” 

“That won’t be necessary,” Draco said in the same formal tone Harry had heard him use with his employees, and he snapped. 

“Draco, don’t be daft. I  _ have _ to call the Aurors. What if you had died? Who is trying to target you? You seemed to know last night…” 

“I am certain I have no idea what you’re talking about, Healer Potter. If you’ll excuse me, I have many clients today. Am I free to go?” 

Harry sighed, and conceded, silently vowing to call the Aurors and make an anonymous claim himself. “Make sure you clear all liquids from your house and then drink plenty of clean, cold water for the next 48 hours. If you end up with a headache or severe vision loss, call a Healer immediately.” 

Draco nodded, thanked Harry again, and walked away, exactly like he was any other patient. 

And Harry wanted to throw a temper tantrum right there in the hospital corridor.

* * *

 

He was lying half drunk and fully exhausted that night when the fireplace roared to life. He jolted upright and glared at the flames as they turned Floo-green and shot out a very coordinated Malfoy, who shook himself once, smoothed back his hair, and grinned as though everything was fine. Harry’s eyes narrowed of their own volition. 

“What the fuck are you  _ doing  _ here?” Harry demanded. 

Draco had the audacity to look confused and check his watch. “It’s Wednesday,” he replied with a shrug. “And you have the next two days off? That’s a ‘your house’ night…” 

“Draco!” Harry bellowed. “You’re kidding, right? You almost  _ died  _ last night.” 

Draco waved a dismissive hand. “Relax, Healer Potter, I slept all day. I’m fine.” 

Harry gave an exasperated sigh and sat back down. “Go home, Draco,” he snapped.

Draco watched him for a moment, and Harry froze as out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco bend to untie his shoes. 

“I suppose I could,” he began, pulling one shoe off. “I could go home, have a glass of wine.” He pulled off the other shoe. “Take a nice long bath. I could use it, you know, I spent the night in the  _ hospital. _ ” Draco pulled his t-shirt over his head, leaving the pale expanse of his body on display and sending Harry into an irritated frenzy without even touching him. “Or,” Draco smirked, noting that Harry was indeed watching. “You could stop being so ridiculous and help me deal with all this pent-up energy. I know you must be tired, since you were on the ward all day. I promise I can do all the work.” 

Draco didn’t wait for an answer, just threw his shirt on the chair beside Harry and walked slowly past him toward the bedroom. Harry growled to himself before pushing off the couch and following, hating himself just a little. 

“You know you’re a git, right?” Harry grimaced as he caught up to Draco, who reached back and pulled him forward faster by the hand. 

“And you’re an asshole,” Draco grinned, turning to lean on the bedroom door. “We’d be lost without that knowledge,” he added quietly with a slight frown. Harry felt his own face turn down. He had no idea what Draco meant. The expression disappeared again too quickly to ask. “Come on, Potter, you look far to put together for my liking.” 

With that, he pulled Harry up to his face by the hair, and it might have been painful if it hadn’t instead sent a beautiful tingle from Harry’s spine to his toes. Harry pursed his lips, waiting for contact, and hissed slightly in frustration when instead, Draco’s breath just ghosted around his face and neck, holding him too firmly for Harry to be able to shift his head closer. 

“Kiss me,” he whined, hating himself a little bit. “Stop being such a bloody ass, Malfoy.” 

“Draco,” came a murmured reply. “Draco when we’re here.” He kissed Harry on the jaw; soft, fluttery lips that made Harry shiver and did nothing to alleviate his want. “I’m sorry, Harry, for last night.” 

“Can you tell me what happened?” Harry whispered. 

“No,” Draco said, grasping Harry’s neck and pulling him into a kiss. Harry’s still partially open mouth was unprepared for the soft wisp of Draco’s tongue hitting the roof of his mouth. Harry smiled into the kiss. He hadn’t really thought he’d get an answer. 

“Inside,” he said, tucking his hands into the top of Draco’s trousers. “Too tired to be standing upright.” 

Draco smiled and lowered his hands to Harry’s waist, sliding down the curve of his ass, around his hips, hoisting him suddenly into his grasp. He shouldn’t have been able to lift Harry, but lift him he did, kicking back against the door and walking steadily back toward the bed.

It might have been disturbing that he knew the route so well, but Harry wasn’t really thinking about much beyond pulling Draco’s hair into his fingers, the thin, light strands like silk on the pads of his fingers. There was a subtle pounding in his chest that said ‘stop sleeping with me and date me’, a lingering feeling of worry and desire that twisted in an odd and painful  _ need  _ in his groin. Whenever he kissed Draco, he lost the problems of their past; the small slights and bigger problems got mixed into the heat and the taste of Draco’s tongue against his own. 

By the time Draco sat down on the bed, pulling Harry firmly into his lap and holding him tight, Harry was short of breath but he refused to break contact. 

“So much clothing,” Draco muttered, leaning back and pulling the hem of Harry’s shirt away from his body, Harry impatiently taking over when Draco paused to rub at his stomach. He wasn’t in the mood for slow and teasing touches. 

“Said you’d do the work,” he growled, pulling himself off of Draco’s lap to throw away his shirt and sprawl on the bed. “But so far all you’re doing is annoying me.” 

“Pushy, pushy. We need to get you to bed, grumpy pants,” Draco hummed, turning himself around to straddle Harry’s lap and undo his trousers. “Or maybe we just need to take the grumpy pants off?” He giggled and Harry groaned. 

“God, you are such a dweeb! How have I only just realised that?” 

Draco just laughed and pulled Harry’s trousers and pants down in one swift motion. Harry prepared himself for more torturous touching, fisting hands in the sheets and watching Draco bend down. Instead, the fuzzy blond hair, which Harry had ensured already looked a frightful mess, simply undid his own trousers and was similarly naked in a matter of moments. Draco was hard already, and it made Harry smirk. He wasn’t quite as ready, and it was nice to know how little work he had to do to turn Draco on. 

“Well well, someone looks rather pleased with themselves,” Draco smirked. “What are you going to do about this, then?” He gestured toward himself and Harry just laughed and tucked his arms behind his head as he shook it. 

“Don’t think so, Draco. You promised. Hop to,” Harry said with a quirked eyebrow. Draco’s eyes darkened slightly and he smiled. 

When Draco was suddenly no longer looking at Harry, his mouth engulfing Harry’s quickly swelling cock, Harry had a harder time not thinking about the night before. It was easier when Draco was holding him in a painfully intense gaze, watching Harry like he was miraculous. As nice as it was to have lips curved around his prick, hands in the curls at the base and fondling him gently, it wasn’t what Harry needed, not really. He gripped Draco’s hair firmly and yanked him back up. He was fully hard, now, and he was too tired to waste time. 

“Enough,” he whimpered. “Need you.” 

“Okay,” Draco breathed, kissing his nipple and reaching over him to the drawer for lube. “Still me doing the work, okay? Relax.” 

Draco reached behind himself, slicking his hole with his own fingers, watching Harry with burning eyes the entire time. Harry couldn’t help but reach out and take Draco in hand as he watched. 

“Ready?” Draco gasped, not waiting for an answer as he slicked Harry’s cock and sunk down on top of him in one swift, fluid motion. Harry’s eyes fluttered closed, waiting as Draco shifted and adjusted himself carefully. He hadn’t been lying; his entire body was exhausted, every muscle aching, but now, it felt like there was a purpose to that pain, a balm to the ache. He reached for Draco and gripped his hips tightly just as Draco began to move, hands flat on Harry’s chest. 

A short time later, Harry felt his eyes fly open and wondered what had woken him. Last he remembered, they had been lying in the same space, not actually touching but comfortably dozing in sweaty, satiated silence for at least an hour.

Now, Draco slowly peeled himself out of the bed, stretching lightly before bending to gather his clothing. 

Harry frowned at how empty the bed felt as the draft from where Draco had removed the sheet hit his thigh. 

“It’s late,” he muttered pointlessly. 

“I know, sorry, I’m hurrying,” Draco said, pulling on his pants. 

“No, I mean…” Harry began. “I mean, you could just stay.”

Draco smiled, but the facial expression was sad and marred in the semi-darkness of the street-illuminated bedroom, and it was the most accurate expression Harry had ever seen. 

“Night, Harry,” he whispered, leaning over and kissing Harry’s forehead, t-shirt still in hand.

“Night,” Harry answered shortly, turning over so he didn’t have to look at Draco leaving.

* * *

 

* * *

 

When it happened again, Harry wasn’t even at the hospital. In fact, he’d finally gotten himself home after staying way too long in the lab trying to finish a report that was not going well. He’d finally taken himself to the grocery store, and there was food in the house; it was so abnormal that he was humming around the kitchen as he put things away, planning on throwing actual food into actual pots and sitting at the real dinner table for once. He was excited. 

Which is why, when the telltale sound of his wand alarm went off, he froze in abject horror for a moment before picking up his wand and staring at the purple light a moment. Non-urgent, which was strange. He wasn’t on call. He should not be getting non-urgent alerts. A moment later, the tiny flying fox Patronus of Melody, the on-call coordinator, popped into the kitchen. 

“Healer Potter, there is a special case in the emergency ward that requests your presence. Please send word if you are able to attend.” 

“Why is my life like this?” he said to his pots as he turned off the stove and stepped into the stone hearth in the kitchen. 

He was immediately accosted by Melody the second he landed. 

“Don’t even start with me. I am aware that you are not on call, but your name was on this file and I had no choice but to alert you. He’s fine and you don’t have to stay, so don’t even—“ 

“Melody,” he said calmly. “It’s fine, really. What is it?” 

“Through here,” she said, pointing. It took Harry all of three steps to see the blond hair and the grey coat, and he froze. Melody sighed, “Look, I told you. You don’t have to stay. It’s fine.” 

“Melody this is not my patient. Why is my name on the file?” He narrowed his eyes at her and waited. She looked nervously around and then sighed again, passing him the file. A note attached simply said  _ If admitted, call Healer Potter immediately.  _ He ground his teeth. “Emily,” he hissed. 

He thanked Melody, who was really not to blame, and moved quickly ino the room. It was clear that Malfoy was in bad shape; he wasn’t fighting anyone at all as they moved around him, casting detection spells and giving him random commands. 

“Harry,” he said weakly when he saw him. 

“Malfoy?” Harry replied, quirking an eyebrow. ‘Harry’ outside the bedroom was a little weird, but then, he was in the hospital again. “Healer Murrow, what’s going on?” 

“We don’t actually know,” the healer frowned. “Can’t tell what it is.” 

Draco didn’t say anything. 

“Check for the ingredients in a bad Veritaserum,” Harry said, turning on his heel to leave

“Stay?” Draco murmured quietly. Harry froze in his tracks. 

“Healer Murrow, this is my patient. I can take over,” he said eventually. “You must be almost off shift.” 

Healer Murrow nodded gratefully and handed Harry the chart he was holding. There was nothing much to do except wait for the detection team to arrive and monitor him, so Harry turned to sit at the nurse's station and wait. 

“Please,” Draco said quietly again.

“What?” Harry said viciously. 

“Stay,” Draco repeated. 

Harry ran a hand through his hair and sat in the chair beside the bed, pulling off his shoes and propping his feet up on the bed. “You’re lucky I’m always exhausted,” he spat. “I should be leaving you in your own misery. Gonna tell me what happened this time?” 

Draco inhaled quietly and reached weakly over to grasp Harry’s foot as though he was holding his hand, tightly gripping and grimacing at the same time. “Can’t,” he murmured. “Harry,” he whispered. “Hurt.” 

Harry felt his expression soften against his will, but he forced himself not to reach for Draco. “Try to sleep,” he said instead, leaning back in the chair but not pulling his foot back. 

He awoke with a start, unaware of how long he had been asleep, to find that his foot was still being loosely held by a sleeping Malfoy. He sighed and stood up. 

He found another Healer in the corridor, explained that the patient was stable, and Apparated home. He needed to sleep in his own goddamn bed. 

The confusion with Malfoy would have to wait.

* * *

* * *

 

“What’s got you in such a twist,” Ginny asked, glaring at Harry over the rim of her glass. “This is supposed to be  _ fun  _ remember? You said so when you signed us up.” 

“Nothing. Rough week.” 

“Thought you weren’t working today? Were you home last night?” Ginny said, looking back at her canvas and adding a splatter of the disgustingly bright red she had chosen. Harry was pretty sure she’d gotten some in her wine, but he didn’t say anything. “You do look exhausted though. Did you stay working on that dumb research again?” 

“First of all,” Harry said, gesturing with his paintbrush. “It is not dumb. It’s necessary, if tedious. The research is not the problem. It’s a long story. I stayed two nights ago to finish up a report, and then because I stayed, I got pulled into a case and ended up staying all night at the hospital. But I slept well last night, so, whatever. Leave me alone.”  

“Well, you look like shit.” 

“Thanks, love. Ever so much.” 

“Did I tell you?” Ginny said, lifting her glass and changing the subject. “I got the position change requests in this week, and Martinez thinks she can play seeker.” 

“Martinez is dreaming,” he said sympathetically. 

Ginny carried on talking about the team for a good twenty minutes, and Harry did his best to pay attention, but his mind was drifting. Bad Veritaserum was odd. It wasn’t exactly easy to  _ make  _ Veritaserum, and when it went bad it smelled strongly of vinegar and rotten eggs. And it was strange that Emily would just say ‘bad’, as though that was a medical term. And then last night, Malfoy had been so... not okay. Hilarious and truthful potion-drunk was one thing. Lethargic and in pain was an entirely different matter. If he could just work out—

His face was suddenly wet, and he spluttered. Ginny was holding a paintbrush covered in water, flicking it in his face with an unimpressed quirk of her eyebrow. 

“Did you even hear me?” she demanded. He shook his head sheepishly. “Right,” she declared. Let’s go.” 

“What? Why?” Harry asked frantically. He was suddenly nervous about what he’d missed her saying. 

Ginny shook her head at him. “We’re leaving, and then you are telling me what the fuck is going on with you. This wine is not strong enough, and your painting is shit.” 

“Hey, Picasso,” Harry argued. “I’m not the one who’s canvas looks like a murdered Christmas tree.” 

The people around them were now glaring, and Harry conceded, standing and following Ginny out, abandoning their glasses and canvases in favour of the evening summer sun.

“God, what were we thinking?” Ginny exclaimed once on the street, stretching her arms out and arching her back. “Art. We are  _ not _ Artists.” 

“No, you’re probably right,” Harry laughed.

The street was crowded and warm, the breeze stifling instead of refreshing, and Ginny headed off into the midst of Carnaby Street as though she had a direction. He knew she didn’t really know where she was going, so he steered her ever so slightly toward his favourite wine bar, hoping she’d drop the subject. She was not so easily distracted.

“Right, out with it,” she said suddenly as they walked. 

And for whatever reason, be it the earlier wine or the anonymity of the crowd, or the fact that it was Ginny and she wouldn’t let it go, he did just come out with it. 

“I’ve been sleeping with Draco Malfoy for six months,” he blurted.

Ginny looked at him for a moment, as if trying to assess if he was being, but she didn’t scoff or gape or gasp. She just looked at him, shoved her hands in the back pockets of her shorts, and studied him for a moment. Finally, she shrugged. 

“Well, that certainly explains a lot about the last six months,” she said casually.  

“Shut up,” Harry said, grinning. “Anyway, that’s not the problem.”

Ginny laughed. “Well, that’s a surprise.  _ You, _  not having a crisis over your sexual choices? Who are you and what have you done with Harry Potter?”

“Fine, nevermind,” he sighed, striding forward and leaving her in the crowd.

“No, Harry,” Ginny laughed, catching up to him. “Sorry. Go on. What’s the problem, then?”

“He keeps getting poisoned. Well, okay, it's only happened twice but he's been in the hospital both times.”

“Um... well then,” Ginny said, processing as she twisted her hair up into a loose ponytail. “Yeah, I see that is a bit more of a problem. Weird though.” 

“No kidding,” Harry said, reaching the bar and holding the door open for her. The interior was dark and slightly less stuffy, and Harry left Ginny to find a table while he got drinks. They had been sitting for five minutes, staring at their respective glasses and trying to cool down when Ginny finally cleared her throat.

“So, is it just because he’s a Malfoy?” She asked. “Who's trying to get rid of him?”

“Ginny,” Harry groaned. 

“Oh sorry. I guess we need to be slightly more sensitive about it, then?” She smiled at him and he tried to smile back. “Alright, sorry. Do you have an idea who is endangering him? Does he?”

“I'm pretty sure he knows exactly what's going on,” Harry said, exasperated. “But he won't let me call the Aurors and he won't tell me anything.

“...weird,” she said hesitantly, trailing off.

“But?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrow at the unspoken sentence in her eyes. 

“But, I mean I know you're a healer and all, but Harry… you're not responsible for his well being. If he won't tell you, then…” She shrugged. “Why is this distracting you so much? I haven’t seen you this concerned about a case in years.”

He stared down at his drink and swallowed. 

“Unless,” Ginny said, reaching across the table to take his hand. “You aren’t just sleeping with him, are you?” 

“Unfortunately, I don’t think so,” Harry conceded, downing the rest of his drink and letting his head fall to the table with a heavy clunk. “I’m just not sure he’d agree with me,” he added, voice muffled by the table.

Leave it to Ginny to pinpoint the problem in under five minutes. 

“Oh Harry, how do you manage these things,” she said, patting his hand lightly. 


	3. Chapter 3

Harry had been at the hospital for thirty-six hours. For the last fourteen, he’d been painfully aware of every single minute. His hip was hurting from standing for so long, and his shoes were damp with sweat. He was uncomfortable and dirty, and he really,  _ really  _ needed to sleep. When his shift replacement finally arrived, he summarised his cases in a haphazard manner, throwing himself into an on-call bed without even attempting to make it home; he had to be back here in ten hours anyway. Better to just get straight to sleep and shower in the locker room. 

He had only been asleep for a few moments when there was a banging on the door. 

“We lost him,” came a hurried panicked voice from the other side. “Healer Potter! We’ve lost him.” 

Harry opened the door viciously and glared at the small, young nurse on the other side. 

“What are you doing, nurse Abigail? Whoever it is you’ve lost, I am not on shift. It is not my responsibility. I am asleep.” 

“Yes, I know,” she said, still sounding frenzied. “Only they sent me to tell you because they think you’ll find him faster. He’s hurt, and he’s not making any sense.” 

Harry’s sleep-deprived brain sorted through the information rather slowly and finally, he scrubbed a hand over his face and stared down at the small woman again. 

“It’s Malfoy?” he asked blearily. She nodded. “The other employees of this hospital  _ are  _ aware that I am not his personal healer, right? Fine. I’ll see if I can find him.” 

Harry pulled on a clean set of robes and stalked angrily into the corridor. Wherever Malfoy was, he was going to be extremely sorry when Harry found him. He thought for a moment about where exactly that might be, and realised very quickly that he knew exactly where. Draco hated bright lights; Harry teased him about it constantly.  _ Like a vampire. Or a cat. Or a vampire cat.  _ He shook his head and turned on his heel, heading down the six flights of stairs to the main floor lobby. 

When he entered the chapel, he was glad to see that it appeared completely empty. The soft blue glow of the wall fixture light was supplemented by the dozens of magically lit candles at the front. It was quiet and peaceful in here, and he normally quite liked it. Right now though, it just reminded him that he should be asleep. 

“Draco?” he called. There was no reply, but Harry listened closely for a moment and eventually heard a soft, muffled sniff from the front of the chapel. 

He moved forward carefully, unsure what state Malfoy was in. If he’d fled from the Healers who knew what mental state he was in. 

When he reached the front pew, however, he found Draco curled up on the floor, cradling his left arm and shaking, rocking back and forth, crying silently. And Harry’s angry resolve shattered.

“Draco?” he murmured. “Draco, it’s just me. Are you okay?” 

“I’ve messed everything up,” Draco whimpered. “I always mess everything up. There’s no point, not really. And it’s all my fault, just like always.” 

Harry crouched low to look at Draco’s face. His eyes were dark and there were heavy circles beneath him. He was looking around wildly, terrified, and Harry reached out to try and smooth down his hair, but Draco lurched out of his grasp. 

“Hey,” Harry said gently. “Let’s get you back upstairs and we can fix your arm? It’s going to be okay, Draco. Come on.” 

He reached down to help Draco stand, but Draco screamed and startled Harry into falling back on his bottom. 

“Okay,” Harry breathed. “Okay, we’ll stay here for a minute. Okay?” 

Draco nodded slowly. Harry sat up on his knees and moved to sit beside him. After a moment, Draco shuffled over and leaned against Harry, still shaking and sobbing, and Harry slowly lowered an arm across him, pulling Draco close and trying to avoid his injured arm.

For long moments, they sat in silence, Draco’s breath heaving in stuttered gasps, and Harry shushing him and rubbing his shoulder. Finally, Draco settled slightly and put his head heavily on Harry. He didn’t dare move, even though he was sure that Draco’s arm hurt; something was definitely broken or dislocated, given the angle. 

“I made such a mess of it all,” Draco repeated, not really speaking to Harry from the sound of it. “Just such a disaster. How can I have failed?” 

“Draco, I’m sure it’s fine. You’re just—“ 

“You don’t even know, Harry. And I can’t even begin to... never mind,” Draco said, biting off in a forced exhale. 

Harry tried to be a healer. He tried to think of questions that would provide him with information right now, would help him keep his patient from further harm. He tried desperately to think like a healer, but what came out of his mouth was not that. 

What came out of his mouth was, “Draco, remember the first time? You said... you said you liked me still. And that I should date you…” 

He took a deep breath, already kicking himself internally and unable to stop his words, like a rush of air that forced their way out of his lungs. 

“And I was wondering if you could tell me what you meant,” he finished, closing his eyes and holding his breath. 

Draco nuzzled his cheek against Harry’s neck and inhaled. 

“I liked you in school, but you already hated me so much,” Draco murmured. “And then that ministry party, after you stopped being an Auror? When Kingsley gave you my card so you could hire me to defend your case against the training group? I thought maybe we could fix it, but then I fucked that up too and slept with you and gave you that stupid list and Harry? It was nice when you stayed that night in the hospital.”

“It's fine.”

“No,” Draco insisted. “The list was stupid.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, leaning on Draco’s head. “Yeah, it was.” 

Draco shifted once more and promptly fell asleep on Harry’s arm. He sent a charm up with his wand, and soon, the transport team had levitated Draco and gotten him into a bed. Harry went back to sleep in the on-call room, with no more information, and an intense amount of frustration behind his eyes.

* * *

 

The next morning, Harry was not on shift. He didn’t care. He threw on his robes and stormed over to Malfoy’s bed. He pulled the curtain open and shooed away the medi-witch who was forcing Skele-Gro down Draco’s throat, taking the roll of bandage and slinging his arm viciously. 

“I’m going to need you to be more gentle,” Draco grimaced. 

“I’ll be more gentle when you tell me what the fuck is going on.” Harry pulled the brace tight against Draco’s body. He whimpered a moment and Harry let his arm fall gently back to his shoulder. 

“There is nothing going on,” he finally whined, breathing hard. “And don’t you have a duty of care that prevents you from treating me this way?”

“Not right now I don’t,” Harry grimaced. 

“Actually, I think this is exactly what that law was meant for,” Draco said, some strength returning as the pain subsided. “You can’t treat me differently because of your personal feelings.”

“That law was written for Death Eaters,” Harry hissed, “and do you  _ really  _ want to go there right now?”

“There’s nothing to tell, Harry,” Draco growled. 

Harry stared at him. “You are in my emergency ward for the  _ third  _ time this month with your  _ third  _ mysterious potion poisoning and you are telling me there’s ‘nothing to tell’. Yeah, thanks but no thanks. Bullshit.”

“Poisoning?” Draco repeated. “Little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Harry yelled. “It is  _ not _ dramatic to call patients who have taken a bad potion unknowingly POISONING. That is literally the textbook definition of the word ‘poisoning’, for Merlin’s sake!”

“Who’s everyone?” Draco asked calmly.

“What?!” Harry yelled again, angry disbelief unleashed and unavoidable at this point. 

“You said, ‘everyone keeps saying’,” Draco muttered. “Who’s everyone?” 

Harry took a deep breath, conscious of the fact that he was in his Healer robes and shouldn’t exactly be seen yelling at a patient. Once he had calmed slightly, running a hand through his frazzled hair, he noticed Draco watching him and remembered he’d asked a question.

“Oh,” he said dismissively. “Just Emily. You know her. Charge medi-witch? No nonsense? You like her. Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m fine, Harry,” Draco said for the umpteenth time, grinding his teeth together and exhaling carefully. “Just... let’s just let this bone heal, and I'll go home and it’ll be fine.”

“Are you fucking— ok, nope,” Harry exhaled, throwing his hands up in a large sweeping motion of defeat and taking a step back from the bed. 

“Where are you going?” Draco asked, confused and slightly alarmed.

“To get another Healer to deal with you. I can’t even look at you right now,” Harry shouted, turning away.

“Harry, come on—“

“Nope. I’m done here. Goodbye, Draco.”

* * *

 

Emily rounded the corner the second Potter left, walking the short distance to Malfoy’s bed from where she’d been listening in the corridor. She watched him with carefully narrowed eyes for a moment, watched him watch Harry leave, hurt and cradling his injured arm and looking genuinely confused.

“You know you’re going to have to tell him, right?” she said evenly, crossing her arms and studying his face.

“Yes, thank you, Emily,” Draco replied acerbically. “I am well aware.”

“Are you?” She asked incredulously. “Do you know him well enough to know that he isn’t just going to drop this? He’s going to keep digging until he figures it out, and I really think that you want him to hear it from you before that happens.”

“Oh, and that’s the solution, is it? Just tell him first?” Draco’s tone was high and hysterical. “Why  _ thank you,  _ now I can relax.”

He shook his head, staring at the ceiling. “Are you really so naive as to think that’s going to fix everything? You don’t know anything about us, Emily, so just—“ 

“Watch your tongue, young man,” Emily interrupted sharply. “You’d do well to remember that I’ve been around the block a few times. I have seen many things that people have believed they could not overcome. I have seen  _ real  _ challenges, and I promise you this is not one of them.”

She took a deep breath and dropped her arms. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, lacking rebuke. “I have also watched Harry these past few months, and I promise you... it’s not as complicated as you two are making it.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, eyes still studiously fixed on anything but Emily’s face. “It  _ really is.” _

“He loves you,” she answered simply. “Oh, he doesn’t know it yet, and you clearly don’t know that you love him, but you two are being utterly foolish if you think that you are ‘just having sex.’"

“Excuse me?” Draco exclaimed, shock forcing him to lift his head to look at her.

“Don’t start with me, Malfoy. He cares about you.”

“He cares about everyone,” Draco complained. “He’s a bloody saint.”

“He is,” she agreed. “And if you keep on forgetting that, he’ll start wondering why on earth he’s still wasting his time waiting for you to see him for what he  _ actually  _ is.”

Draco scoffed, “And what’s that, exactly?”

“A lonely man who loves you, and can’t figure out what he’s supposed to do about it. ” She shrugged. “Tell him, Malfoy. I won’t keep your secret much longer.”


	4. Chapter 4

 

Harry managed his Malfoy-esque indignant anger for almost exactly two weeks. He dodged owls and floo calls and Draco’s not-so-subtle attempts to drop into the pub whenever Harry was there. He probably would have lasted longer than two weeks had he not woken up on day thirteen realizing it was Malfoy’s birthday. 

“Fucking flying fuck balls,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “This would be a hell of a lot easier if I didn’t care.” 

Unfortunately, even his desperately empty flat was well aware that he did, in fact, care. He went into the hospital even though he wasn’t scheduled, and used the empty hours to sit in his office, pretending he was working on his research. Eventually, the itch in the back of his mind wouldn't leave him alone, and he forced himself to leave. 

When he arrived at Draco's small office — it’s preposterous sign on the door, pompous letters stating  _ Malfoy and Associates, Solicitors _ — Harry laughed. It reminded him so much of the first time he had shown up at this office, angry and alone, fresh off the embarrassment of failing out of Auror training, fuming at everyone in the magical world. Kingsley had forced him to come here, and upon seeing the sign he’d almost turned on his heel and run screaming from the building. That sign felt like proof that Malfoy was everything Harry had always believed him to be. 

It seemed odd to remember that memory now.

The interior office, he knew, would be sleek and polished, full of expensive furniture and a cold, aloof assistant who would give no information until he felt like it. 

_ Much like Malfoy himself _ , Harry thought wryly, pushing open the door and preparing himself for the stark minimalism. 

Which was not there. 

Harry walked into the office to find the front reception area was non-existent, replaced instead by many workbenches. Potions equipment was strewn from one end of the room to the other, bright lights overhead illuminating boiling cauldrons over open flames. Draco Malfoy, hair steamed damp and limp, stirred methodically at a large copper pot to the side of the room, but he looked up at the sound of the open door and immediately dropped his Hawthorne rod. 

“Ha-Harry,” he stuttered. He gaped at Harry for a moment, pulling down his pushed up sleeves and playing with the corners of a stained and too-long apron. “You’re — you’re here,” he finished lamely.

Harry had no words, tried to start many sentences, and failed with all of them until he just gestured at the room as a whole. 

“Yeah, guess I’m going to have to explain, aren’t I?” Draco sighed, removing his apron and coming around the bench toward Harry. “Well, okay…” 

Draco took a deep breath and pulled a chair out from the table near him, gesturing for Harry to sit as he hoisted himself up onto the workbench. 

“So, I guess the easiest place to start is with ‘I’m not actually a solicitor’...” Draco began. 

Harry sat heavily on the chair that Malfoy had put before him. His head was swimming with the possibilities of what this situation meant; he may have been in a safe and largely pain-free job for nearly a decade, but once you had fought in a war, your brain became very good at jumping to worst-case scenarios. He suddenly felt quite dizzy. 

“I’m going to need you to not pass out for the next fifteen minutes,” Draco requested, voice laced with concern, though he didn’t get down from the workbench. “Can you let me know if that doesn’t look likely, at any point?” 

Harry felt himself nod, although he was now fervently looking around the well-equipped lab. It was obvious, from the sheer volume of things and the disarray around him, that this was not a new development. This place had been here awhile. Which meant  _ Draco _ had been here awhile. 

“How long?” He asked, voice hoarse and odd. 

“That’s not the easiest place to start. I’m thinking maybe you just listen?” Draco replied, rubbing his legs and showing his own nervousness. “And...stay until the end, okay?”

“I —” Harry began, before realising he had no idea what he was going to say, and just nodded again instead. 

“So, I am not a solicitor. And you didn’t fail out of Auror training. Those are two facts that will make everything a little easier from here on in, so you just need to … accept them,” Draco continued. He held up a hand when Harry tried to interrupt him. “No, seriously. Just. Listen.” 

“When you started Auror training, with Ron and Neville, there were people who were… let’s say, less than thrilled. Your admittance into the program without completing your last year of Hogwarts and skipping the psychological exam was not a popular decision.” 

“Yes, I remember,” Harry said darkly.

“Well, Kingsley decided he didn’t care. Which was all well and good, except… well, you’ve never really been great at watching your own back, have you? I mean, you’re lucky and smart, and quick with a wand, and… but you're reckless.” 

Harry wanted to be offended, but Draco’s face looked wistful and far away, and something about it made him think it was possible that the sentence wasn’t actually an insult. 

“Anyway, flash forward to you, three months into the program, and doing field work for the first time. That’s when it happened.” 

“What happened?” Harry said sharply. 

Draco glared at him, and Harry sat back sheepishly, murmuring an apology. 

“You were targeted. There were three separate incidents where someone tried to kill you.” 

“ _ Excuse me? _ ” Harry hissed. “No, there weren’t. I think I’d have known if someone was trying to  _ kill me _ .” 

Draco laughed heartily, making Harry scowl. “What?" Draco said calmly. "Wait... Do you actually think that?” 

“Well…” Harry said defensively.

“We will just ignore the  _ multiple _ times that you were unaware of your own danger in school for a moment, and I’ll pretend I understand you," Draco laughed. "The point is, you were targeted. The Ministry had a tail on you, so you were always safe, but the problem was much larger than that.” 

“How can the problem be worse than someone trying to kill me?” Harry said incredulously. 

“The fact that the Ministry had absolutely no idea who it was,” Draco shrugged. “After the third attempt, Kingsley got… well, I think he just realised how bad things were going to get if they didn’t figure it out. He decided to, um. Shuffle you out of the program.” 

Harry stared at Draco, processing. “You’re telling me that…” 

“Yeah,” Draco replied sadly. “I’m sorry. I know it was a sort of shitty time for you. That’s when Kingsley decided that the lawsuit was a good idea. Make it look like it was the Ministry’s fault. Take the press off you a bit.” 

Harry knew he was about to explode. It was no longer a possibility. 

“But that lawsuit was real! You went to the council for me!” 

“Never happened,” Draco said simply, shaking his head. “Since you conveniently decided not to come, things got even easier. We had a plan for if you wanted to see the trial, but…” 

“The trial wasn’t… but I got compensation? I used that money to pay for Healer training!” 

“Unspeakables fund,” Draco said significantly. 

For long moments, Harry tried to grasp everything that he’d heard. He wasn’t really upset about Auror training anymore. He was a much better Healer, and he knew he’d have collapsed under the weight of law enforcement very quickly if he'd stayed. He’d watched it happen to Neville. The problem was that he now had doubts about everything in his life. Including… 

“You’re an Unspeakable,” Harry whispered, the last of the cogs of this ludicrous puzzle slowly grinding into place. His stomach dropped to his knees as he worked it all out. 

“How long?” he said, staring straight at Draco. 

"Harry, wait though, just let me."   
  
"Draco," Harry insisted. "How. Long."

Draco cleared his throat and looked at the ground instead. “The whole time. I’m your… you’re my case.” 

Harry stood up so suddenly that the chair behind him flipped backwards and echoed as it hit the floor. His breathing quickly grew out of control and he knew his hands were on his head, though he couldn’t feel them. 

“I didn’t mean for anything to get out of control,” Draco continued, as though he couldn’t see Harry, as though they were still having a normal conversation. “It’s my fault and, trust me, it’s going to cost me my job, but I need to just… I swear I have almost sorted it out.” 

“Sorted what out,” Harry murmured, barely hearing Draco but knowing answers were required if he was going to survive this afternoon. 

“Who it was,” Draco replied, in a tone that suggested the answer was obvious. “There were forty-three suspected Death Eaters on the loose when I started. We’re down to fifteen, and I feel like I’m close. I almost have them cornered.” 

Harry’s eyes snapped to Draco’s face, but his grey eyes were fixed on a blank spot on the wall, his expression a determined grimace. Harry inhaled deeply; he was suddenly worried he was going to throw up. He took a few deep breathes, forcing clear air into his lungs. He let himself check back into his Healer-self before he asked his next question. 

“Draco, have you been poisoning  _ yourself _ ,” he asked finally, his voice cold and professional. Draco's eyes finally returned to his, full of sad fear, pain. Guilt. 

Eventually, he shrugged. “I’ve been telling you all along, ‘poisoning’ is a very dramatic word.”

Harry inhaled again. 

“I’ve just been trying to sort out the right ratio of Veritaserum combined with a tracking spell,” Draco continued.” I would have been fine if Emily hadn’t forced me to come to the hospital that first time.” 

Harry closed his eyes, fighting back the anger that threatened to spill into his words, but the darkness hitched a word in his mind and he opened them again suddenly. 

“Emily…” Harry repeated. “But… Draco,  _ why _ ?” 

Draco shrugged again, and Harry found that he very much wanted to hit him. “I lived with Death Eater’s for over a year,” Draco replied.” I know there is information I know that I’ve either forgotten or had… removed. I’m getting so close. If I figure out who it was, then —”

“Shut up,” Harry interjected sharply. “Just. Shut up. Right now.” 

Draco stopped speaking abruptly and waited. Harry moved forward, froze. Backed up again. He shuffled back and forth three more times before he moved into Draco’s grasp and kissed him, a needy, desperate,  _ finality  _ behind the embrace. He pulled away just as quickly and pulled his hair again. 

“Yeah, I can’t do this,” he announced. 

He turned and was out of the lab before Draco even had the opportunity to recover from the kiss. 

Draco jumped off the counter and collapsed against it instead.

“Well,” he announced to the empty room. “That's gone  _ so  _ well, hasn't it?” 


	5. Chapter 5

If you had told Draco months earlier that he was going to wind up missing the presence of Harry Potter in his life, he'd have laughed you all the way to the psych ward. In fact, if you'd told Draco even weeks earlier that he would be losing sleep and feeling ill over  _ upsetting  _ Potter, it's possible he would have asked what you were taking and if he could have some.

Yet, Draco found himself in utter torment for the entire week after the lab incident. Emily, for the first time in his recollection, had been wrong; Harry had not dealt with it any better hearing it from Draco than if some random stranger had told him the story, and Draco was genuinely surprised. And hurt. 

And lonely. 

The only thing that he could think of was to throw himself into his work, whatever that meant these days. He had tried to get Kingsley to narrow down his job description for over a year, yet he still had only the vague ‘just keep an eye on them, and figure out who it was’. 

Fortunately, he hadn't been lying to Harry about anything he’d said; he was very close to figuring out the culprit of the attempts on Harry's life way back when. He could  _ feel  _ it. The problem was that the closer he felt, the more potion he felt he needed to take. He'd given up on the mixed concoction the week after the last incident. He hated breaking bones, and the potions were far too volatile to be combined. 

The alternative, however, was awful. Draco had always been far more susceptible to truth serum than most people, a fact that had been well exploited before he’d even turned of age. He’d worked out a complicated system of straight veritaserum and a recording charm in his lab, a precaution against anyone else having to be present for his self-interrogation. He'd write down a bunch of things for him to ask himself; every time he listened back to the recordings, he felt stupider and stupider. It should not have been necessary for him to answer his  _ own  _ bloody questions just because he’d spoken them aloud, but the potion disagreed and he’d learned a lot, put three more Death Eaters behind bars this year alone.

Throughout this process, though, Draco had also remembered things that he wished he could unlearn. Days spent surrounded by the cold presence of murderous bigots spouting off disgusting beliefs about other human beings. Hours spent sitting ramrod straight at the dining room table as  _ he  _ went on one of his sickening diatribes in his terrible, rasping voice. Evenings that felt like years, pretending to be relaxed in the library as his father's plans grew more and more desperate, and more and more dangerous. 

It had been worth it if you could justify the cold sweats that woke him at night, the violent vomiting when he tried to go to sleep. He'd remembered five names he'd had removed from his brain. Combined with Emily's clever Occlumency, he had discovered many leads and many ways to solve his case.

The Ministry had long since stopped caring. Even Kingsley was no longer truly concerned. The threats had stopped, the world was ‘safe’ on the surface once more. Since the Ministry had only ever truly cared about was appearances anyway, no one was watching his progress with any interest. 

For Draco, though, it was more. It wasn't just about Harry. It hadn't been about Harry at first, and it wasn't entirely based on him now, even if the urgency of his motives had shifted slightly. It was about the past. It was about atonement. It was about not letting them win or return or be able to try again. 

Draco was on a mission.

* * *

 

He was at the end of a very long morning of confusing self-interrogation. The potion was minutes from wearing off when he heard the sharp knock at the door of his hidden lab. He inhaled sharply and pulled his wand; given that Harry and Kingsley would just walk in, and that no one else actually knew this place existed, he was immediately concerned. 

Behind the door, however, he simply found an angry shock of red hair and a blazing, furious glower.

“I'm coming in, one way or another, so you might as well put that away,” the youngest Weasley hissed, glaring pointedly at his outstretched wand. He let his arm fall and went to speak, before realising it was sort of pointless. He stepped aside instead and closed the door behind her as she moved around the room, taking everything in. 

“I assume you remember who I am?” She stated without preamble, settling herself on the counter in a move that was normally reserved for himself. It was unnerving to watch her echo his movements; he sincerely hoped that it was bothering him for reasons beyond noticing himself in another person Harry had slept with. 

He nodded silently and folded his arms, attempting to regain some an inch or so of ground before he completely lost his edge. He was not a man in the habit of being ordered about. 

“Oh drop the sullen, brooding act. I know Harry well enough to know that he’s got a very good reason to be fucking  _ livid  _ with you right now,” Ginny snapped. “He told me everything, and you have absolutely no leg to stand on Malfoy.” 

“Draco,” he muttered automatically, making her laugh in a malicious way that sent a shiver up his spine unpleasantly. Stories from the common room about the vindictive curses of the baby Weaslette suddenly flooded back to him. He wondered if she was still quick to anger and slow to think about the degree of her actions. 

“What do you want, exactly?” He sneered. 

“I’m here to tell you to deal with this Harry thing,” she shrugged simply, her face going neural and her hair falling about her shoulders with the action. “Soon. Because he’s driving me nuts. You need to go apologise.” 

“You want me to  _ apologise _ ?” Draco snickered. “I thought you said he’d told you everything.” 

“He did,” she agreed. “The thing is though, he’s just being Harry. He’s not thinking clearly because he’s mad. He hasn’t realised he’s not actually mad at you because you have been doing...what you did…”

Draco quirked an eyebrow at her. 

“Okay,” she admitted. “So I only vaguely understand what’s happened.” 

She laughed a moment at Draco’s small smile before continuing. “The point,” she added. “Is that he’s actually angry about being lied to. He’s very sensitive about people trying to lie to him. It’s a bit of a thing, actually."

“Well, given his history—“ 

“Yes, exactly,” Ginny interrupted. “So that’s what I mean. He’s bizarre. He doesn’t like being lied to but he’s also very quick to trust. It’s complicated and well, a little dangerous, actually.” 

“You know, a lot of people have been putting a lot of effort into trying to tell me ‘what Harry is like’,” Draco muttered in annoyance. “As if I don’t know."

“Well, do you actually think you do?” Ginny asked.

Draco looked at the ground as his blush rose for no reason he could see. 

“I don’t know if that’s fair,” he said eventually.  “I wonder what he’d have to say about it.” 

“Yeah, well we’ll never figure that out if you don’t go kiss and makeup,” Ginny sniggered. Draco fixed her with his own glower that had no impact on her whatsoever. “About that, by the way…” 

“About what?” Draco snapped.

“Well, I mean, how did it happen?” She asked innocently. “I feel like I’m allowed to be at least a  _ little  _ bit surprised, given who you are.” 

“Hasn’t Harry told you?” Draco replied sullenly. 

“Sure,” Ginny said. “But that’s only his version.” 

Draco eyed her carefully; his brain had supplied the embarrassing words that he’d often thought but never spoken the second she’d asked the question, but he surely wasn’t going to actually  _ say  _ them. He blamed the after-effects of the Veritaserum. He refused to open his mouth. 

Until he did. 

“Have you ever accidentally looked into someone’s soul?” He blurted, the words tumbling into the room and sounding insane. 

“Um, yeah, no,” Ginny replied, an incredulous look on her face that instantly endeared her to Draco. This woman did not fuck around. That was a personality trait he held above all others. Her tone was deadpan and unamused. 

Draco sighed.

“I don’t mean like ‘woowoo’,” he sang, waving his hands in front of his face, fingers wiggling and making him look incredibly dumb. “Nothing magic.” 

“I’m sorry but did you just say ‘woowoo’? You realise you are a  _ wizard _ right?” 

“I just…shut up and let me explain,” Draco said, oddly flustered, and angry about it. “It happens to everyone. You are just standing near someone, like, in a lift. Or in a line at the store. You’re both not really thinking about what you’re thinking about. So your eyes meet, and you just sort of ... know them more than you meant to? People guard themselves a lot, almost all the time. So, sometimes, when they forget that veil...I don’t know. You know?” 

Ginny was very quiet across from him, studying his face. He felt almost naked and he squirmed uncomfortably. He wished he could hide properly but that would hardly help the situation.

“Okay,” she said finally. “Yeah, okay, I know what you mean.” 

“Well,” Draco started again, grateful to have something to say, even if it was going to embarrass him further. “That happened. I was supposed to be watching Harry during his second rotation of overnights because they were worried about another attack when the hospital was quiet. I was sitting there under a glamour at the Nurse’s station and he was, obviously, really tired. He came to finish a chart and he was just sort of standing there.” 

“Whenever Harry isn’t thinking about anything, he just looks dumb,” Ginny quipped, smiling. Draco smiled back. She wasn’t wrong; an image of a rumpled, sleepy Harry floated to his mind and made him want to sigh like a love-sick teen.

“This time, he wasn’t not thinking, though,” Draco explained. “There was something on his mind. He just wasn’t paying attention to his appearance. And I saw him. I actually saw  _ him _ ,” Draco muttered. “And it’s dumb, but that was the first time. And he just looked so…” 

Words finally failed him, and he just made a sound that he’d never heard from his mouth before. A sort of confusingly desperate sound. 

“Bruised,” Ginny said quietly. “He seems bruised. Always.”

Draco nodded slowly. He wanted to be comforted that she understood, but it had only served to remind him that other people knew Harry better than he did, had known him this way for longer. That realisation hurt more than he cared to acknowledge. Ginny sighed at his expression. 

“It’s okay, Draco,” she muttered. “It’s okay that other people care about him.”

He nodded, still uncomfortable.

“I think you should know something, though,” she added. “He looks like that because he's tired. He's still fighting for everyone but himself. He probably always will. Can you handle that?”

“I'm standing here because I _am_ handling it,” Draco said defensively. “I'm here because I'm trying to fight for  _ him _ .”

Ginny stared at him, nodded. Stood suddenly. 

“Good luck,” she said sincerely. “I hope you have more success at that than I did. There is one thing that's different, though.”

“What?” he asked carefully, his entire body feeling raw. 

“He actually loves you. He always tried with me but... This is confusing him, you know. I'm not sure he's ever been on the other side of intense emotion. I wouldn't be surprised if he pulled a Romilda Vane with you."

“A what?” Draco asked. 

“He hasn’t told you that story? Weird. He loves that one. I think because it makes him come across as a hero. Sixth year. There was a girl in our year that got a little...er, obsessed. She tried to give him a love potion. Ended very badly. Besides the point though.” 

“Wait, who?” Draco asked, slightly alarmed. 

“Um...Romilda Vane?” Ginny repeated, looking very confused.

“Why does that name sound familiar?” Draco mused.

“Because we went to school with her?” Ginny replied with a tone of amusement. 

“No, no,” Draco dismissed, walking toward his bulletin board and thinking hard. “She was a Gryffindor, no? I don’t think I’d remember her. Why am I just now learning that there was someone obsessed with Harry in school!” 

“Other than you and I, you mean?” Ginny teased. She shook her head at his alarmed digging through papers on the baron. “It didn’t become a big thing, I was just making a joke. You can relax now.” 

“That could be an important detail, though. Is she still…?” Draco asked, trailing off as he pulled his Ministry list off a thumbtack.”

“I - I don’t actually know. Malfoy, stop, I was making a stupid joke. Look, just...go talk to him, would you?” 

He nodded, but he was distracted now and she sighed. 

“Please don’t make me regret not hexing you,” Ginny added as she walked toward the door. “It was my original plan.” 

“Here!” Draco cried suddenly, making Ginny jump. “I knew I recognised that name!” 

He rushed toward Ginny as she jumped off the counter, offering the parchment to her in a nervous excitement. 

“ _ Vane, Romilda - suspect in three drugging cases, _ ” Ginny read slowly. “I don’t know Draco. That’s a pretty weak connection.” 

“Not really, but that’s because you don’t know the details of this case,” Draco grinned. He knew he shouldn’t be  _ happy  _ exactly, but it was the first lead he’d had in months that hadn’t required him to be incapacitated by potions, and he was excited. 

“I think you’re sort of proving my point, here, Draco,” Ginny sighed. “You are instantly worried about the case instead of this thing with Harry.” 

“There is no way he forgives me if I don’t figure this out,” Draco whined. 

“Oh dear Merlin, have you even heard what I've been saying? He doesn’t care that someone was trying to kill him,” Ginny said in exasperation. “He’s Harry Potter.  It’s sort of his thing. He cares that  _ you  _ were lying to him  and then he went and let his emotions get out of hand and now he’s embarrassed.” 

“But if I don’t solve this, I stay his caseworker. Ergo, he stays mad at me because I lied to him. It’s all connected,” Draco explained. 

“Yeah, whatever. I’ve had quite enough Slytherin logic for one day,” Ginny replied, handing him back the paper. “Goodbye, asshole. Do something useful, would you?” 

“Bye, Weaslette,” Draco said smiling. “I promise you, I’m trying.” 

She grinned at him and shook her head as the door closed behind her.

* * *

 

Draco went back to his notes and looked over the files he had amassed over the long case of Who Tried to Kill Harry Potter again. He’d read the whole thing so many times that he had it memorised, and he let the story roll around his brain. The whole thing was pretty simple, really; at first, Draco had assumed it had been an example of classic Ministry overreaction to the Chosen One. 

Three attempts to poison Harry Potter hardly seemed like a reason to assign him a  _ personal  _ Unspeakable, and also remove him from the Auror program. Draco had instantly resented him because as usual, special treatment for the Boy Who Refused to Go Away. 

Until the file had hit his desk and the strangest case he’d ever seen unfolded before his eyes. That had been nearly three years ago, and he had not really ever come closer to sorting it out; three separate partners, three separate cases, three types of poison administered in three different ways. There were absolutely no connections or signatures or motives beyond ‘he’s Potter’, which is how everyone, including Draco himself, had ended up deciding it had to be a former Death Eater. 

Draco spent the afternoon after Ginny’s sudden appearance attempting to reconnect the dots in his brain, but he kept getting distracted by unidentifiable emotions.

It felt a little bit like guilt, mixed with regret, and he really didn’t like it.

Finally, he gave up in a loud, exasperated sigh that sent all of his files to the floor. He didn’t even bother picking them up as he changed his shoes and Apparated from the street. 

“Well, doesn’t it make an odd change to see you upright and walking through those doors on your own power,” a cool voice said the second the door swiped closed behind him. 

“Emily,” Draco grimaced. “I meant to write to you.” 

“Oh, there was honestly no need,” Emily said in the same detached slightly angry voice. “Healer Potter came storming in here at seven this morning, barricaded himself in his lab, and hasn’t been seen since. Every once in a while, something explodes. He hasn’t even eaten, as far as I know. So,naturally, I assume that you told him?” 

“Yes,” Draco answered sharply. “And it went about as well as those explosions you keep hearing.” 

“Does he know I was helping?” Emily added in a slightly quieter voice, concern just managing to edge into her tone. 

“Yes, but I’ll make sure he knows no one gave you a choice,” Draco answered sympathetically. 

“Don’t bother,” Emily sighed. “If he needs to be mad at me, he can be mad at me. Poor boy really just needs people to stop manipulating him, doesn’t he?” 

“I feel like we all need that, really.” 

“Are you here to apologise then? I’ll be honest, I’m not sure he’s ready.” 

“I—“ Draco started, looking at his feet guiltily. “No, actually. I came because...I think….” 

“You’re here on  _ business _ ?” Emily asked incredulously. “Merlin, Malfoy… You really have no sense of timing, do you?” 

He smiled sadly. “I’ll be honest, Emily — that has really always been one of my problems.” 

“Best get on with it then,” she said, leading him to the lab door. Draco honestly had no idea what Harry was working on, which was a pretty interesting reality of how their little adventure had been going so far; Draco had never stopped long enough to ask, and Harry had never tried to volunteer the information. They were a mess upon mess of humanity, and it made Draco want to laugh. 

He pushed open the door, and couldn’t see immediately for a thick fog that settled onto the surface of everything around him. As his eyes adjusted in a room that was a million degrees warmer than the hallway, surrounded by a plethora of plants in variously precarious pots on every available surface, there was an exasperated shout. 

“Fuck! Reparo!” 

A sharp crack echoed into the room that was definitely too small to echo, and Draco watched as the telltale sparks of a large and well-focused fixing charm dragged small shards of something glassy and sharp into the room. 

Suddenly, silence filled the air. Harry had realised that he was not alone.

“And what exactly do you want?” Harry shouted angrily into the vacant air. 

Draco gulped and held up a large file.

"I think I might've solved your case," he answered sheepishly. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm...this chapter comes dangerously close to being more than mature for like three sentences? I warn so I don’t have to edit. 
> 
> Also, I apologise for writing a mystery you had no way at all of solving because you didn’t get the back story. That’s a dick move. Love me anyway? (*hides*)

* * *

Things exploding in his lab wasn't actually that uncommon, but Harry was also aware that those were usually caused by his actual work, and not from inattention and distracted casting. All morning, the voice of Snape had been in his ear, hissing about how _incompetent_ and _destructive_ he was. The thought, ludicrously, made him smile.

_It is a wonder, Mr Potter, that you have not managed to murder everyone in this hospital by now._

His magic was unstable. He couldn't help it. His brain wandered no matter where he was, and he figured that staying in the lab was safer than trying to treat actual patients.

He wasn't as focused on the current problem with Malfoy As he probably should be because he was ruminating, endlessly and painfully, on just how he’d gotten himself into this mess in the first place. He kept looking for signs he’d missed, evidence to suggest that he was to blame. The problem, obviously, was that the person in question was, and always had been, Draco Malfoy.

* * *

 Six Months Earlier 

“I am relatively sure you were instructed to lie back down, Mrs. Moir,” Harry said gently, grabbing the old witch under the elbow and directing her back to bed. He’d been up all night, and he had taken the woman back to bed at least five times.

“You know, you look just like my grandson,” she said sleepily as she lay down.

“Yes, you’ve mentioned,” he said with a weary grin.

He was almost done, almost off shift. He just needed to finish some of his charts and then he could leave.

He had been standing at the nurses station for fifteen minutes, having written three words exactly, when the double doors swung open and a rather crumpled looking Malfoy appeared, his hair soft and unstyled. Harry wasn’t sure why he was noticing the change, but he did realise one very important thing; he was smiling at the thought of an interaction with Malfoy. It was… disarming.

The man had been hanging around the hospital a rather disturbing amount of late, and all the nurses were starting to comment. They had bets on who the charming blond wizard was trying to get his hands on. The current money was on Melody, the skittish young nurse who’s eyes may have been larger than her sense. Harry mostly ignored them, except to explain, over and over again, that Malfoy, even at the best of times, was an ass. They would just laugh him off and say uncomfortable things like ‘he can be a bit of an ass to me anyday’ and Harry would quickly drop it. 

He couldn’t account for his added presence, so Harry had simply decided that the man was bored. He kept appearing with paperwork for things that Harry was sure they had settled months ago. After all, he was nearly two full years past the settlement money coming through. He was no legal expert, but he had to think that by now, he had signed every possible slip of paper Malfoy could need. Once, the week before, he’d had a dream that Malfoy was actually selling his signatures on the black market. He’d woken laughing. 

Now, as he approached the nurses station for the third time this week, Harry’s mind wandered. He was very tired. It was hard to reign in the thoughts he normally sheltered. He was hardly unaware that Malfoy was in fact, objectively attractive. Hair a bit too long, usually in Muggle clothes, as he was now, a sharp blazer and soft looking jeans. It wasn’t a surprise that Harry’s brain was willing to apply an appreciative gaze. He just didn’t let it get father than that. Usually. 

“Malfoy,” he said quietly when Malfoy was standing beside him. 

“Morning, Potter. Alright?”

“Night shift,” Harry replied by way of explanation. Malfoy nodded. 

“I need to go over some of these files with you. Last few loose ends. But it can wait. You look… tired,” Malfoy replied with a smirk that shot electricity through Harry’s weary muscles. Harry stared at Malfoy; without probable cause for the jolt that shook him slightly, he felt a little off balance. 

“I...no, there’s no need for you to come all the way down here again,” he said eventually. “Let me just go change.”  
  
Malfoy nodded, leaned on the counter behind him. The angle confused Harry even more. He wanted, suddenly, to step himself into the small space between Malfoy’s legs and just... rest there. He shook his head.  
  
“I’ll be right back and we can— well, I mean, I usually eat before I go home so I don’t forget? You care to… er...” Harry stammered, unclear why the invitation was caught in his throat.

The face that Malfoy made in response probably explained everything, though. A cross between a smile and a smirk, with a softness that Harry had never seen. Harry was relatively oblivious to his own emotions at the best of times, but this was clear as day. The look was one of pure attraction, of lust and longing, and it hit Harry hard in the chest.

“Sure. Breakfast... or, dinner, I guess? My treat,” Malfoy replied when Harry didn’t continue.

“Yeah,” Harry squeaked, immediately grimacing at the sound of his own voice.

He spun away from Malfoy quickly, walking toward his lab — the only place his clothes were safe from being stolen by the younger students. He closed the door behind him gently, leaning on it long enough to catch his breath and place a quelling hand over his half-hard groin.

“Pull it together, Potter. That is definitely not happening. You just need to get laid. Frig, don’t be pathetic,” he muttered to himself, pushing off the door and pulling his soiled green robes over his head. His t-shirt underneath wasn’t feeling too great, and he peeled it off as well.

He was standing half-naked, breathing deeply, eyes closed and fighting a battle between regaining composure and staying awake, when the soft click of a door alerted him that he was no longer alone.

“Breakfast,” Malfoy said huskily. “Breakfast would be awkward. I don’t think you actually want to sit and eat with me. But… we could just sign those papers quickly. I could spend the rest of the time I have for our little appointment otherwise engaged.”

Harry nearly yelped in surprise when he opened his eyes and found that Malfoy was right in front of him. Looking very, very interested in his naked chest. He couldn’t, even later, explain why his next three actions had occurred. If it had just been frustrated, lust-filled attraction, he’d have been his clumsy, awkward self. Instead, he’d gulped, and stepped foward. His voice was clear and free of hesitation when he replied.

“You know real people don’t fucking speak like that, right? God, you are such a twat,” Harry exclaimed, continuing to remove his trousers. Malfoy laughed, a burst of air more than a sound, and advanced on him until they were standing only inches apart.

“Lucky for you, then, that I am hardly a real person,” Malfoy whispered in his ear, reaching out to trail a long, slender hand down Harry’s torso, thin fingers raking a line of goose flesh down his chest. “Real people expect relationships from sex. Real people have expectations in general, for that matter.”

“Oh?” Harry whispered, his eyes closing to sensation, unable to back away. “And you don’t.”

“Fuck, no,” Malfoy said.

That was all it was. Those two words, and Harry leapt; the distance hadn’t really been very far, frankly. His mouth sought warmth and his hands buried themselves into soft, product-free hair that shifted and bent to his will. Malfoy’s head, always just half a head above his own, ducked until they were level. A tongue swirled with his own and the moan he let out was loud, exhausted, and utterly perfect.

Harry broke away from the kiss carefully, not releasing Malfoy’s hair from between his fingers. “Why?” He asked.

“No idea,” Malfoy replied. “Why for you?”

“No fucking clue,” Harry replied.

“Good,” Malfoy shrugged, shifting his hands to Harry’s pants, edging flat palms into the elastic and dragging his hands down the length of Harry’s legs. Harry shivered from the touch and the sudden exposure of his dick, now fully at attention and ready, even if his brain was having a hard time catching up.

“You know, Potter, I never would have thought this true,” Malfoy said as he knelt, slow and smooth, nails digging into Harry’s flesh all the way down and making him gasp. “But you really do think too much.”

His last coherent thought— the one just before a new, large and entirely _perfect_ tongue reached out to swirl itself around the tip of his cock— was to lock the door with a flick of his wrist.

There had been an odd unspoken pattern that first month; Malfoy would only show up after Harry’s longest shifts. He never asked for anything directly, just showed Harry what he wanted by using his own body. The sex was always fast and perfect, terrifyingly satisfying. And never quite enough. True to his word, Malfoy never asked for anything else.

No one asked questions. No one wondered why he was at the hospital even more often, but even still, Harry became paranoid. Which is when he’d started moving their trysts to his flat.

From then on, the regularity of sleeping with Malfoy had only increased. He never stayed, he never waited for Harry to fall asleep.

It had been that way from the start.

* * *

 

And now, staring at the pained expression on Draco’s face, Harry understood exactly why. With him standing here, in that same space, staring at another cliff edge between them, it was too much. Harry shook himself back to the present and startled Draco by pushing past him to the door.

“Wait here,” Harry said sharply, managing to make it out the door and closing it firmly behind him until he broke apart just a little, his breath coming in heavy puffs and his chest constricting.

Emily approached him cautiously, a bottle of water in hand and an expression of concern that he actually found comforting for once.

“I just... don’t know how to talk to him,” he said to her the second she touched his shoulder.

“I’d say yelling is probably your best option. I need to tell you something first,” she said, voice pained. “I know you think I lied to you. But you are a first rate healer of your own rights. So you know that I didn’t see it that way. He’s only been my patient since he started the potion experiments. I didn’t know before that. And—“

“Emily,” Harry said, standing up and facing her. “I’m not angry at you. I’m not angry at anyone. That’s the bloody problem, isn’t it.”

“Probably, yes,” Emily answered with a sad smile. “It also is your best quality. Are you going to let him tell you what he thinks he’s found?”

Harry looked at the closed door behind him and nodded.

“Yeah, but then…”

“One step at a time, Harry. One step. Just let him tell you what he thinks you need to hear,” Emily said, reaching forward and opening the door. Harry could see Malfoy inside through the crack, wandering around the lab, his stupid folder clutched to his chest and a look of awe on his face. He took a deep breath and moved forward, closing the door again and startling Draco back to the present.

“What exactly are you working on?” Draco asked, curiosity lacing every syllable. The plants had no correlation, the potions on the counter made no sense.

Harry’s arms crossed his chest protectively. He cleared his throat once and Draco straightened.

“Right, um,” Draco stammered. “Okay, so… Ginevra, er, Weasley?”

“There are very few ‘Ginevra’s’ in our lives. Get to the point, Malfoy,” Harry interrupted.

A flash of irritation crossed into Draco’s neutral expression, but he smoothed it out again too quickly for Harry to even comment on it. It was sort of comforting, actually, to know that buried beneath this odd, apologetic, simpering version of Draco, Malfoy still lived.

“She came to see me. We were talking about... other things…”

“Me, obviously. And? Ginny has always stuck her nose into everyone else’s problems. It’s irritating, but hardly worth you showing up at my lab,” Harry said in irritation.

“She mentioned Romilda Vane. And the love potion. I started looking into her, and she —“

“That’s it? That’s your big lead. That’s your big solve. Christ, Malfoy. I thought you were supposed to be an Unspeakable who’s been working this case for three years. You’re big solution is a silly school girl crush that went a bit far when we were sixteen? Fuck. I thought you said you had information.”

Draco’s jaw tightened. Harry was winning; he was getting to him. Draco was angry now, and Harry felt better.

“Go on then, explain what it is exactly that she’s done to me,” Harry finished with a satisfied aire.

“I can’t,” Draco announced firmly. “She’s dead.”

Harry startled slightly. “W-what? No she isn’t. She helped rebuild the castle.”

Draco took a deep breath and held the folder out to Harry. “She was alive until three years ago. She was under investigation for a series of questionable businesses that seemed to be targeting former Death Eaters. Then she died under mysterious circumstances. Right around the time you were targeted. Harry...”

“Poisoned,” Harry muttered, reading the file.

Draco nodded slowly. “I’ve been so focused on the possible war connections. I forgot that sometimes, things are far, far simpler than that.”

“It wasn’t Romilda Vane, Draco,” Harry murmured, scrubbing his face.

“No, Romilda didn’t try to kill you, but she _was_ murdered. And I think you know why,” Draco said, his voice stronger and more commanding than it had been in years. “Most importantly, though, I think you know who did it, too.”

Harry closed the folder slowly. He looked at Draco, then the ceiling. He looked behind him, where a small distilling machine was bubbling away. This new plan wasn’t actually going very well; the plan had been Neville’s idea, really. Plants that augmented spells.

“Harry,” Draco keened.

“Just. Let me think, okay. You really owe me that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Draco said gently. He strode around the room, finally settling against Harry’s very messy desk. “Can you please tell me what you are doing in here?”

“Seriously?” Harry asked in disbelief.

“I don’t think this one is my fault… we haven’t exactly spent time talking about things,” Draco replied scathingly. He was willing to pay for the things that were his fault. This wasn’t one of them.

When he caught Harry’s eye, there was a small, wistful, begrudging smile playing at his mouth and eyes. Draco’s stomach leapt. That face, those eyes; perhaps he could salvage this whole stupid thing.

“Ginny told me...asked me…” Draco began, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. “She said I should apologise, which, I mean, obviously I need to. But Harry. I need to apologise for lying. Not being who I am. Not doing my job. Is that difference enough?”

“I’m trying to create new detection spells. Diagnostics. We thought maybe...there are potions that can heighten reaction to certain spells. No one has ever looked at how or why. It would make treatment faster.”

“Smart,” Draco smiled. “Who’d you convince to let you have a whole lab your first year in emergency care?”

Harry turned off a burner behind him without replying. When he turned back around, he looked furious again.

“You know it doesn’t make sense, right? Any of it?” He fumed. The sudden change in attitude hardly worried Draco. It was actually a relief to be facing anger. This was the Harry he’d anticipated; he felt he was actually on firmer, clearer ground. He stood to face Harry full on.

“I’ve just realised that I have no evidence that what you said is even true,” Harry continued. “How do I know that you aren’t still lying?”

Draco sighed. “Well, let’s think about it. By now, we both know you’ve talked to Kingsley. Who has confirmed everything I’ve said. We also know that you have suspected something was off, for a long time. The whole thing, with the Auror deparment? Nothing ever felt right.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again a moment later. Draco decided the best course of action was to just continue.

“You wondered, always, why you had a new partner every other week. You wondered why you were bustled off so quickly from field to desk work. You watched others go through and wondered why you were not being treated the same. And I assume you thought ‘it’s just because I’m me’.”

Draco was moving towards Harry now, and he was waiting for him to interject. He did not.

“Then, when you got here, when things didn’t go that way, you knew. Right? You told me already, late that one night —“

“Stop. Just. It wasn’t him.”

“How do you know that?”  
  
Harry covered his face with his hand.

“You told me yourself… it ended because he was obsessed. He couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t get over the fact that people weren’t doing anything to stop the remaining Death Eaters.”

“Draco, I just can’t even begin to explain to you how impossible it is that what you are implying is true.”

“Yeah, I’m getting to that,” Draco continued. “The problem is that I am far more skeptical, in general, than you.”  
  
”You act like that’s a good thing,” Harry interrupted sulkily.  
  
”It is, in my life. Think, Harry. He had access to you. He was right there, in the program. He had access to these files. He was consumed by it all, the heroism, the narrative he’d created. Suddenly, he had _you_. He thought for sure you’d fix things. But, instead, you broke it off. So he...he decided to fix things himself. He practiced with Romilda. It was easy to create a case that would be dismissed with her. She was messing with Death Eaters, she got hit. He, correctly, assumed they’d start looking for them.”  
  
Harry just stared at him.  
  
“The signature is the same, Harry,” Draco finished. 

“Draco, have you ever even met Justin Finch-Fletchley!? The person you are describing... that just is not him. He’s… he can’t…”

“Easily impressed. Rather talented in potions. Angry about the results of the war. Has been obsessed with you for quite some time?” Draco listed, ticking things off with fingers in the air. 

“Draco,” Harry said, shaking his head.

“It doesn’t really matter what you say, you know,” Draco added. “I’m already investigating him.”

Harry pushed himself upright from the counter he’d been leaning on. His face was red with anger, and he couldn’t keep his composure any longer. 

“Then why the fuck are you here!” Harry yelled. “Why in the bloody hell did you need me to confirm that every person I have ever dated has had an ulterior motive? Quidditch fame, murder, investigative tool… I have quite the track record, don’t I? Is that what you wanted, Draco? To make me say, outloud, that I am no longer a clean and convenient fuck? Messaged recieved. Not to worry, I release you from your duty. I could hardly be allowed to say anything else, could I. What with my _list_ , all those little things to keep me from getting attached. 

Draco blinked. He was genuinely at a loss. He should have anticipated drama and yelling, based on things he knew; based on Emily and on Harry and on the potion visits, he should have known what was coming. He had forgotten the temper of Potter; he hadn’t seen it since school.

“No, Harry,” Draco explained gently. “I came to say I’m sorry. That was all. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth earlier. I’m sorry I gave you that list. I’m sorry I slept with you before sorting out that I actually liked you. I’m sorry for everything, in fact,  _except_ sleeping with you.”

Harry did not reply. Nor did he back down. Or breathe, from what Draco could see. He pressed on.

“I’m not on your case anymore. I handed it off to the Aurors,” he added. “I don’t need to work on the file anymore, now that it isn’t an undercover operation. I am being transferred.”

“Good,” Harry barked.

“Yes, I agree,” Draco said with a nod. “There’s no conflict of interest, now, you see. I could… I could ask you to a proper dinner.”

“Malfoy, I don’t—“

“No, I’m not asking you. That would be dumb. You’re furious. I’m just saying…” Draco trailed off, walking to the door with his file, retrieved from the counter beside Harry’s hand. “I could.”

”I could,” he repeated to himself as the wood echoed at his back. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Even as he was doing it, Harry wasn’t sure why he was running. Running, as a rule, was not the most efficient form of transportation available to a wizard. Yet here he was, flying through the streets of London, having at least had the sense to remove his vividly green robes. The reel of tape in his mind kept playing over the sentence, the one that had plagued him for over a week;  _ I could. _

As he slowed up slightly, noticing he was out of breath only once he’d stopped sprinting, he did begin to think of other things. He realised, for instance, that Draco’s “office” really was suspiciously close to the hospital. He also remembered Emily saying ‘slow down it’s not an emergency’ as he tore out of the emergency ward the second the phrase  _ Draco just asked for me to come to his office  _ had left her mouth. 

The anger from the week before had disappeared. Partly because time was an equalizer of his emotions, partly because Kingsley had called to confirm that Justin was still in detainment after a series of shifting and fishy stories and explanations for his presence in Auror training now that he was not, in fact, an Auror. 

Harry supposed the dreams were also helping, as vivid and ludicrous as they were. Nothing scandalous, PG at best, and all the more distressing for it; he and Draco at a party on New Years. He and Draco arguing over whether or not to buy squash at the market. Draco buying new mugs for Harry’s flat. The innocuous and mundane visions make him wake with an ache in his chest that no longer disappeared when he thought about being lied to.

_ No shit, you moron,  _ his inner Ginny chastised as he approached Draco’s building.  _ You overreacted. As usual.  _

He chuckled to himself and pushed open the door, still breathing hard. 

“Malfoy?” He called, hoping to all hope the man was still upright.

“H...Pott… Harry?” Draco, who sat on a stool behind a workbench, lifted his head and was glaring at him with barely concealed contempt. “No,” he protested. “Emily. I called Emily. You can’t be here right now… why are you out of breath?”

“Ran here,” Harry sputtered. “Why’re you sweating?”

“Well, sweating is what happens when you take too much Veritaserum. Did you know you look absolutely beautiful like this? Flushed and sweating I mean? I've noticed before after we had sex and  _ fucking Merlin,  _ Harry would you leave, please? I can’t be around you right now I’ll say something neither of us wants to hear.”

Harry sat heavily on a stool across from Draco and expanded his med kit on the table, pulling out a mini monitor and reaching for Draco’s hand. “I promise I’ll only ask straightforward questions.”

“Like you could do anything straight,” Draco murmured miserably as he stuck his finger out to Harry to be clipped into the monitor. 

“Okay, so you're terribly witty while on truth serum. Suppose that’s good to know. Draco,” he said patiently. “Why did you take the potion? The case is over.”

Harry watched as Draco fought the urge to spew out an answer; he'd worn that face before himself, while under the serum or Occlumency.  It was painful to witness from the other side. 

“I was so close,” Draco finally grimaced, clamping his mouth closed after four words. 

Without meaning to, the sentence “close to what?” was out of Harry's mouth before he could stop himself. Draco's eyes flashed with fury and Harry tried to look apologetic. He didn't really need to know that. Not to treat his patient. 

_Harry_ , however, needed to know that from _Draco_ , and the difference was not lost on either of them.

“Close to finding out why... why I took the mark. Why I helped him. Why —”

“Draco, don't. You don't need to do this to yourself. You need to stop now,” Harry begged. He was in distress and he wasn't sure why. The words that had been poised on his tongue collapsed into Draco's lungs but instead of seeming relieved, he looked murderous.

“You're full of shit, sometimes, you know that Potter?" Draco exploded. "Everyone has always bought into your little ploy of being golden and perfect but you're full of shit. Of course I need to know. How else am I supposed to sleep at night? How else am I supposed to carry on and do my job? How else am I supposed to be in love—”

“Draco,” Harry whined, mildly concerned when the monitor Draco was wearing beeped in concern. “It's okay.”

Draco laughed cruelly. “Want to see a fun trick, golden boy?”

He cleared his throat. “Draco Malfoy,” he said. “Who did you see, that night at the Manor?”

He stared at Harry as the serum-laden version of his voice croaked “Harry Potter”. Harry gasped. Draco looked grim. 

“And why, Draco Malfoy, didn't give him up that night?”

Draco hesitated a moment, fighting the urge to speak. “I thought he could save us,” he gasped finally. “And… And I couldn't see him die because of me.”

Harry looked at the table. He couldn't quite face Draco. “How long has that been working," he muttered. "T he answering your own questions thing?"

“Always has. My father discovered that nice and early.”

Harry breathed deeply. He took a moment to close his eyes and consider his next question carefully. When he landed on the true reason he was so upset, when he found the exact right words to say to Draco in this moment, he smiled and relaxed. 

“Can you please take me for a proper dinner?" he asked finally. "So I can explain why we should just be together?” . 

Draco took a sharp breath, and Harry braced himself; whatever came out of his mouth next was the truth, the real answer, and he wasn't really sure he was prepared. 

“I want to," Draco gushed. "But I'm scared you don't know how much I want you, and that when you find out I've liked you for as long as I can remember, you'll never be able to forgive me for all the things I've done to you and your friends because I can't actually forgive myself…” Draco rushed out. He inhaled sharply as he finished, clearly having run out of air.

Harry smiled slowly, much to Draco's displeasure. 

“Oh, is that all?” he laughed. Draco glared at him. "Draco, you've already told me how long you've liked me. I've already told you I don't care. We need to just… Move on.”

“How do you always manage to make things seem easy when nothing is easy at all?” Draco asked miserably. Harry paused to consider his answer, but in the space he created, serum-Draco muttered, “Because he's Harry Potter.”

Harry laughed as Draco's face flushed red with embarrassment “Guess that pretty much sums it up, yeah. Come on. We have to get you to the hospital. You need fluids. And then later, you can make me understand just how complicated this is going to be. Although, full disclosure, I may be unable to stop myself from taking your clothes off while you do. Problem with that?” 

Draco glowered at Harry one last time before his potion infused voice growled  _ no  _ and made Harry laugh until his mouth was otherwise occupied.    
  


* * *

“Do you need me to go through the next five years as well?” Emily said, crossing her arms and glaring at the examiner. “Because I can, but they are long and rather meandering. They do contain a wedding, I guess — with, you can imagine, many celebrity guests. I could go into great detail.” 

“Mrs Thibault,” the examiner sighed, pushing her glasses up onto her head and rubbing her eyes. “Please, no one is on trial here. I only asked about this six-month gap on Healer Potter’s resume. I really didn’t require—“ 

“You did, though, because, without the full story, I can see how it would be alarming to have a first-year healer disappear. But wouldn’t you want some time to yourself if you found out your ex-boyfriend had tried to poison you?” Emily demanded. 

“Well, I guess,” the examiner allowed with a small grin. “And if my current boyfriend was investigating me.” 

“Well, precisely,” Emily declared. “Moreover, you’ll see on that little piece of paper you are holding there that he did  _ not  _ actually take time off. He completed groundbreaking research in that time. Research that has since been implemented across the country.” 

“Mrs Thibault — Emily,” the examiner repeated. “I promise you that no one is questioning Healer Potter’s loyalty or skill. We simply need a full history. About this ex-boyfriend, speaking of which?” 

“Still in Azkaban, as of last month. He confessed to murder, you know.  _ Murder, _ ” Emily insisted. The examiner merely smiled weakly again and made a note. 

“So am I to understand,” the examiner continued. “That you feel Healer Potter should be appointed as Chief of the emergency ward at St Mungo’s?” 

“I will leave my post if he isn’t,” Emily said firmly. 

“That really isn’t necessary, the board feels —“ 

“And I will be taking at least fifteen of the ward staff with me if I go,” Emily added, eyes narrowed. 

“Okay, well,” the examiner sighed, her exasperation finally showing through. “I can tell you unofficially that the board is very impressed. There shouldn’t be much holding them back from appointing him.” 

“Good,” Emily said sternly. “He is an excellent healer. And he and his husband will not be underestimated by me again. I did that once. I do not repeat my mistakes.” 

“Okay.” the examiner nodded. “Any final statements?” She added wryly. 

Emily smiled, relaxing as she sensed the end. “He’s an excellent healer. He’s an even better man.”

“I promise you, we’ve noticed,” the examiner said with a final smile.

* * *

“They’ve been in there forever,” Harry said, pacing around the corridor. “Do you think it’s going badly?”

Draco laughed. “No, I think Emily is telling your entire life story so that they understand how foolish they would be to let you go.” 

“I didn’t mean it when I said I would consider other opportunities. I don’t want to go to Sweden," Harry whined.

“You were going to Sweden? Can I keep the house?” Draco teased. Harry glared at him. “Would you come sit down, you crazy man. You are not going to have to go to Sweden.” 

Harry sat beside Draco who twisted in his bench seat to lean on Harry and kick his feet up. They’d been here for over an hour and he had missed lunch; his stomach gave a loud protest. 

“You don’t know that,” Harry said. 

“No, you’re right, I guess I don’t know that. But if you have to go to Sweden, we will sell the house and take the dog, and suddenly be Swedish,” Draco explained with a  yawn. 

“Okay… and you won’t whine?” 

“I mean, a little bit, but not much.” 

“Okay,” Harry breathed, balancing his chin on Draco’s head. “Why?” 

“What? Why would I come to Sweden? Well,” Draco said, sitting up and leaning in close. “Can you keep a secret?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry laughed, shoving Draco’s head away. “Love you too. Shut up.” 

“Never.” 


End file.
